


I've Got This Feeling That You'll Make It Through

by trashfortimmy



Series: Quarantine & Chill [9]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Couch Sex, Foot Massage, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, armie taking care of his baby, quarantine feels, timmy is a little bit sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfortimmy/pseuds/trashfortimmy
Summary: Timmy is having a bit of the quarantine blues, but luckily Armie knows just how to take care of him.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Quarantine & Chill [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686802
Comments: 28
Kudos: 82





	I've Got This Feeling That You'll Make It Through

**Author's Note:**

> Well hi there. I'm back with yet another installment of Q&C boys. This time there's angst, softness, and of course, orgasms.
> 
> I let the real world/our actual current Covid situation seep into this one a little more than in previous works. It's a way to work through my own emotions & put them on the page. Write what you know, they say. And hopefully it's relatable, too.
> 
> Several times over the past (almost) year, I've found myself feeling stuck, whether emotionally or physically & feeling like I’m unable to do anything to fix it. Then someone will remind me that I can reach out to people and it seems like the simplest solution in the entire world. It's easy to just stick to your routine, stay home because it's safer that way & do your part. But then you also end up isolated. Of course Tim loves being at Armie's apartment and having him around (lbr, they basically live together at this point), but he needs his friends and family, too.
> 
> In addition, this was partly born out of a desire for someone to rub my feet, plus it's a small (okay, massive) homage to the nosebleed scene.
> 
> The title is taken from the song "Everything Is Gonna Be Alright" by Infinity Song, with the word "you'll" replacing "i'll" in the original song lyrics. I thought it was perfect bc not only is it on my quarantine 2020 playlist, but also bc EGBA.
> 
> OK, I really hope you enjoy this <3

When Timmy wakes up, his mouth feels dry and stale, and he badly needs something to drink. He doesn’t really want to move, but his thirst is urgent enough to make him roll out of bed with a huff, quickly pulling on a too-long t-shirt he finds on the floor.

He goes to the kitchen in a half-awake state, opens the fridge to take out the orange juice. When Armie had gone to the store last, he’d bought an extra container of it just for Timmy, since he drinks it every day (sometimes twice a day). He stares into the fridge, noticing just how much food Armie had gotten during his last grocery run. He’d definitely bought enough so they didn’t have to go out again for a while.

He thinks about how staying inside for days on end is no longer a luxury afforded him when he’s in between shows, but something mandatory, something that makes him feel stuck. Of course he loves having Armie with him now, to provide a break from the monotony and boredom he was experiencing when he was all by himself. The companionship is nice ( _really_ nice if he’s being honest), but there are still restrictions in place and it prevents him from going about his day as he normally would.

That’s the reality of the world they’re living in now, a sort of half-life where everything is limited: grocery runs, going into work, contact with people. Business as usual no longer exists and there doesn’t seem to be a clear point at which it will go back to normal.

Timmy finally takes out the orange juice, feeling dazed and out of it, his body feeling a little bit heavier than usual.

He places the container of juice on the counter and goes to the cabinet to reach for a glass. On the way down, the glass smacks against the lip of the bottom shelf and shatters. His hand holding the glass is immediately smeared with red and Timmy registers the sharp pain of the cut. In an unconscious effort to keep holding onto the glass, he’d closed his fingers around it, and now there’s a broken shard jutting into his skin.

Timmy looks down at the blood pooling in his palm, unable to do anything but stand there and watch. 

He numbly registers the shattered glass on the countertop, how some of it made it into the sink. He stands, motionless, almost captivated by the way the pieces of glass catch the light and shine.

“Tim, are you—” Armie walks into the room, seemingly to check on Tim, but cuts himself off and rushes over to him when he sees the state he’s in.

“Baby,” he coos.

Then it’s all a blur as Armie whips around the kitchen, grabbing paper towels and bandaids, whirling back around to Tim, leading him away from the mess and urging him to sit. 

They end up with their backs against the lower cabinets of the kitchen island, butts on the vinyl floor. Timmy leans his head back to thunk against the wood behind him and lets Armie maneuver his arm out straight. He hisses as Armie pulls the piece of glass out quickly, then hastily presses a paper towel against the dripping cut.

Armie holds Timmy’s hand with both of his own, the wad of paper towel pressed between their palms. He strokes his thumb against the back of Tim’s hand as they wait for the blood to stop flowing. Timmy lets himself be held, be taken care of, but he feels awful for having smashed Armie’s glass, clumsy and dumb for having hurt himself.

“Are you okay?” 

Without any real conscious effort, Timmy’s bottom lip pushes out into a pout. He can’t meet Armie’s gaze.

He still doesn’t really know how he feels, didn’t really know how he felt in the first place, and then all of _this_ happened. He feels like a mess. The look on his face must be pretty pathetic because Armie is turning his hand over, kissing the back of it.

“‘M’sorry,” he mutters, enjoying the comfort and care Armie is providing but also feeling ashamed, wanting to hide.

Armie looks at him sternly, brows pinched together slightly. “It’s fine,” he says, “it’s just a glass.”

Then he peels back the paper towel to check if the blood has stopped flowing. Seemingly satisfied with the way the cut has already clotted, Armie twists his body to grab a bandaid from beside him and gets to work applying it to Tim’s hand. 

“Good as new,” declares Armie, obviously attempting to cheer him up. He gently squeezes Tim’s hurt hand and the bandaid feels weird as it inelegantly tries to fold itself into the existing creases of his palm.

Armie doesn’t press him any further. He slides his hand down to Tim’s knee and rests it there; the touch is comforting and grounding. They continue to sit, side by side, in companionable silence for a while.

After a few minutes Tim’s legs start to fall asleep. He stretches them out, wincing as the pins and needles make his skin prickle uncomfortably. Looking over at Armie for the first time in a few minutes, he follows his gaze to where it’s resting on his outstretched legs, past the hem of the too-long t-shirt that’s draped over his thighs, past his naked lower legs, all the way down to his bare feet.

Armie isn’t moving, and apparently he’s just staring at Tim’s feet. Tim looks at him curiously, but he doesn’t break his gaze, and Tim shrugs it off, thinking maybe Armie has spaced out.

But then Armie is moving, scooching away from the island and towards where Tim’s legs are stretched out, turning his body towards him. He watches as Armie reaches for his feet, scoots forward more so he can bring them into his lap.

As soon as they land, Armie takes one of them and starts rubbing at it with his hands, thumbs digging into the arch and ball of his foot in the most delicious way. Timmy sighs and closes his eyes, lets himself absorb Armie’s caring touch.

The delicious pressure continues for a while until one particular pass of Armie’s giant thumb digs in a little too hard and Tim’s eyes fly open. The first thing he sees is Armie’s face, slightly mischievous smile in place. He unconsciously licks his lips, watches as Armie’s eyes flicker down to track the movement.

Armie looks back up and silently asks for Timmy’s continued gaze, then lowers his head to kiss the foot in his hands, eyes straining to stay connected. Timmy gets a view of Armie’s blues from underneath his eyelashes as his lips make contact; he is transfixed. The moment seems to have ascended to some other plane and the kiss feels meaningful, possibly more so than all the others. Timmy feels safe, loved.

Armie keeps the eye contact, seeking Timmy’s consent as he continues kissing over the bridge of his foot towards his ankle. The kisses are soft yet lingering, as if Armie is trying to press his lips into Timmy’s skin permanently. He feels them melting together.

His eyes threaten to close, mouth parting, and he lets out little puffs of breath as the kisses continue. One particular kiss is accompanied by Armie’s thumb digging into his arch and he can’t help the way it makes his mouth fall open a little farther, a soft little noise escaping, his eyes fluttering as they struggle to stay open. He doesn’t miss the small smirk on Armie’s lips, though, as it peeks out from under the next kiss.

Then Armie sadly stops his kisses altogether. Still holding on to Timmy’s foot, he brings it back down to his lap. 

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll take care of this mess?” 

Timmy opens his mouth to protest but is met with Armie’s stern but gentle look, and a not so gentle squeeze to his ankle. So off he goes.

In the bathroom, he peels off the bandaid, knowing it’ll just get soggy and gross when he washes himself. When the first splash of water hits the small gash on his palm it stings, intensely at first, and then fades away as the cut is washed clean.

While showering he uses Armie’s products, lets the familiar scents overtake him.

He feels safe in Armie’s apartment, in his embrace. The world outside is still a little bit scary though.

They haven’t truly been outside in a few days now, living off Armie’s full fridge and pantry, sustaining themselves with the touches and kisses between them. He knows things out there are still not great, and probably won’t be for a while. Doesn’t know when things will go back to normal. Doesn’t know when he’ll be able to go back to work or hug his friends freely or do any of the things he used to enjoy without a second thought. 

Even though he has Armie, he still feels like so many things are missing, like he’s lost so much. The badness just seems to stretch on and on, with no end in sight.

How will he get through it?

He turns off the shower, feeling glum.

He doesn’t realize he’s been crying until he steps out of the shower and the cool air hits his face. Only then does he feel the tracks the tears have left, the snot clogging his nose.

He sniffles.

When he dries himself off with one of the fluffy towels hanging on the back of the door, he takes an extra moment or two to breathe in Armie’s scent lingering there.

Then looks at himself in the mirror and knows immediately that it’ll be hard to hide the evidence of his crying jag, his eyes slightly puffy and his skin blotchy. He questions how Armie will react, but generally trusts him and decides not to intentionally hide it.

But he doesn’t really want to bring it up right away either.

He finds another bandaid in the medicine cabinet and applies it to his freshly-cleaned palm. Then gets dressed in his own clothes for once, which have been washed with Armie’s latest load of laundry. Just a t-shirt and boxers, for now, which isn’t much different from what he’s been wearing around Armie’s apartment lately, but this time the clothes belong to him.

Out in the living room, he finds Armie on the couch, watching something on TV. Luckily he doesn’t have to deal with Armie looking at his face just yet, because he seems too engrossed in the show, so Timmy simply arranges himself against his body, snuggling into him and pushing his head into the crook of Armie’s neck. It’s nice and warm there, and he can fully engulf himself in Armie’s scent. Timmy already feels a little bit better.

Armie’s hand goes straight for his still-wet curls, caressing his hair and the side of his head. Timmy sighs at the touch.

“You smell nice,” Armie compliments, no doubt noticing that Timmy’s used his products in the shower and smells exactly like him now.

He just hums in response. Wants to tell Armie what’s going on but he doesn’t even know where to start. Figures it wouldn’t be so bad if he just continues laying against Armie for a while, breathing him in. That feels nice. He lets himself stay in his current position, feels himself start to calm down.

For a few minutes the only sounds that can be heard are the noises from the television and both their soft breaths. Timmy tries to match his inhale-exhale to Armie’s, likes the synchronicity when they line up perfectly.

After a handful of matched breaths, Timmy starts sinking into a feeling of real calm. Here, with Armie, everything is okay. If he just stays like this then everything will be fine.

But then Armie is moving away, disentangling himself from Timmy in order to get up off the couch. He can’t help the way his fingers tighten in Armie’s shirt, the way his body automatically responds to Armie being anything but close. He doesn’t want to let him go.

Armie grabs one of his hands, tries to loosen his fingers from their strong grip, but Timmy only hangs on and whines. He doesn’t care if it makes him seem clingy right now, he just needs Armie to stay.

He feels Armie chuckle, hears how it rumbles lightly in his chest. “You gonna let me go?”

When he doesn’t get a response from Tim, he maneuvers him so he’s holding both sides of Timmy’s face, those giant hands spanning almost the entirety of his head. _Damn him_ , thinks Timmy, cursing Armie for his larger body mass, his superior strength. Usually Timmy likes being manhandled by him but right now his instinct is to hide. Armie holds him there, tries to catch his gaze, and Timmy knows he won’t let him look away, so he just stays still. 

The longer Armie peers at him, the more Tim’s eyes flick nervously away. But Armie just holds his head, keeps examining him, lets his eyes roam all over Timmy’s tear-tracked face. Timmy hadn’t tried too terribly hard to wipe the evidence away completely, knows that his eyes are still red-rimmed and there are probably a few remaining blotches dotting his skin.

Armie looks at him for a few long moments, then brings their faces together so he can kiss over his nose, his cheeks, both of his eyelids.

Timmy can’t help the way his eyes swim with fresh tears, the way one drop escapes and rolls down his face, carving a new track. He feels Armie’s thumb swipe at his wet skin, wiping it away.

Then he’s pulled into a crushing hug, Armie rubbing over his back. The tears never erupt into something more but Timmy still feels them behind his eyes, is left with a lingering sadness, a weight in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name. He pushes his face into the warm skin of Armie’s neck, trying to breathe through the emotions, but the embrace is over far too soon.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Armie says as he pulls back, stroking through Timmy’s still-wet hair and over his dampened cheek. “D’you want anything?”

Timmy just looks at him, too stunned at this raw display of understanding and acceptance, his throat too stoppered with emotion, to respond.

“OJ?” Armie asks him, a small smile on his lips.

Timmy can’t help the answering grin on his own lips as he’s given a kiss on the cheek. 

Armie moves to the kitchen to fix their drinks. As he goes around to the other side of the island, Timmy thinks about sitting against it earlier, about Armie holding the towel against his hand to stop the blood. He folds his palm just to feel how the bandaid tries to fold along with him. 

Unfolds it and thinks about how much time he’s spent here with Armie since finally getting to see him in person, about how easy it’s felt. He loves being here, loves their little bubble they’ve created to hide away from the rest of the world, but knows eventually that’s going to have to end. That eventually he’s going to have to be a part of the outside world again, no matter how strange or halfway-to-normal it feels. What is he going to do when he has to go back out there? What will the world look like when he does?

Timmy acknowledges Armie’s return with his eyes only, looking up at him as he places their drinks on the table in front of them. When he takes his seat again, he wraps an arm around Timmy, who slumps into him.

“You want to talk about it?” Armie asks gently.

Timmy doesn’t even know what to say. He feels numb. All his worries and anxieties seem too huge to tackle, and he feels too overwhelmed to start. Before he sorts out the mess in his head, Armie starts to speak.

“If you need to go home, I totally understand. Maybe I’ve kept you here too long. If you need your own space that’s—”

Timmy thunks his head into Armie’s shoulder to interrupt him.

“It’s not that,” he mumbles into the fabric on his t-shirt. Armie seems relieved by that, his body relaxing and his hand stroking over Tim’s arm.

“What is it, baby?” Armie asks softly, and Timmy just pushes his face further into his shoulder. “You can tell me,” he adds.

And it’s not that Timmy doesn’t want to tell him, it’s just that everything feels like a jumbled mess inside of him and he doesn’t know how to sort it out.

“Is it about us?” Armie asks tentatively. “Or me? If there’s something you want to do differently, we can—”

Once again, Timmy interrupts him, shaking his head against Armie’s shoulder, face rubbing back and forth against the soft material of his t-shirt. He pushes his nose into it, inhaling Armie’s wonderful scent and trying to figure out where to begin.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Armie encourages, and Timmy’s eyes sting with tears at the endearment. He takes a shaky breath to compose himself. “You can tell me,” Armie repeats, whispering it against his curls this time, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“Everything is just so fucked up,” Timmy finds himself saying, feeling Armie’s grip on his arm tense up until he adds, “out there.”

“I know, baby.” Armie’s tone is still soft, calm, and Timmy is suddenly overtaken by a surge of anger, because he feels anything but. His hand fists in Armie’s t-shirt and he doesn’t try and swallow against the lump in his throat anymore.

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to work again, or see my friends, or…” Timmy trails off, his anger quickly morphing into sadness again, his voice wet and strained.

“You can see your friends, Tim,” Armie reminds him, “you just have to be careful.”

“It wouldn’t be the same, though,” he mumbles dejectedly.

“Have you thought about seeing them anyway? I know it’s not the same, but it might be nice to be with them.” Armie’s thumb is stroking gently over his arm, which feels good.

Timmy sighs, sniffles a little. The lump in his throat has dissipated slightly but he still feels wrapped in sadness. The feeling weighs him down, makes him feel helpless. More than anything he’s tired of being careful, of following the rules, of living in this in-between world where he still has to be cautious and he can’t fully relax.

“I love having you here. You know I do. But it seems like your friends are important to you. Why don’t you set something up with them?”

Timmy closes his eyes, angles his head up towards Armie’s face. “Okay,” he sighs, gets a kiss on the forehead.

Armie lets him snuggle against his shoulder a moment longer, then hands Timmy his orange juice to sip, then his phone, rearranges them so Timmy’s reclined against the arm of the couch and his feet are in Armie’s lap.

And Armie just holds Timmy’s ankles while he sends a few texts to friends, asking if they’d like to meet up in the park sometime soon, maybe grab some coffee or have a picnic.

“Okay, done,” he tells Armie, head falling back to rest, some of the tension in his body having drained away.

Armie’s thumb starts gently stroking back and forth across the arch of his foot, and he closes his eyes, lets himself absorb the soothing contact.

The foot massage continues, with varying degrees of pressure and speed. It’s been a long time since Tim’s had his feet rubbed, and while he can’t say he’s ever really longed for it, it feels extremely nice right now. Timmy keeps his eyes closed, groaning at the occasional touch that hits just the right spot, uses just the right amount of pressure.

At some point he opens his eyes and finds Armie staring directly at him. He makes sure Tim is watching, then lifts his foot and gives a sweet, lingering kiss to the top. Looks at Timmy again.

The air feels charged now, a continuation of their earlier moment in the kitchen.

Armie lowers his foot and Timmy is aware how close it is to Armie’s crotch. He wiggles his foot a little back and forth, smiles smugly when he sees Armie’s gaze harden.

“You like my feet?” Timmy asks teasingly, lightly. 

Armie doesn’t respond, but his cheeks take on the slightest pink tint. Timmy decides to push it a little farther and wiggles his foot so it’s directly over Armie’s crotch, presses it down.

“Tim,” he says, warningly, but Tim ignores him and does it again.

This time Armie grunts, grabs the offending foot and maneuvers himself so he’s hovering over Tim, pushing his foot out of the way in the process so he can settle between Tim’s spread legs.

“I like every part of you,” Armie says, a slightly husky quality to his voice that, when coupled with a hand moving down to cup at his cock through his boxers, gives Tim goosebumps, makes him shiver.

Armie squeezes around his dick and Timmy cries out softly, only now realizing how he’s almost fully hard. His head is swimming and he feels like he’s drowning in Armie’s scent. 

The next thing he knows Armie’s hand is on his bare thigh, sliding up towards his crotch, fingers finding the hem of his boxers and sliding underneath.

“Can I take these off?” Armie asks as his fingers rub gently back and forth under the fabric and Tim can feel himself already craving his touch, wanting so badly to be skin to skin.

“Yeah,” he sighs, lifting his hips slightly so Armie can peel the boxers off, slide them down his legs. Then Armie resumes his position and slides his hand up Tim’s thigh again, only this time there’s no interruption of fabric.

His breathing speeds up as Armie gets closer to his naked cock, then he gasps as that giant hand covers the entirety of his length and squeezes at him again, this time without anything in the way. He groans and quickly grabs onto Armie, pulling him down so their bodies are flush against each other.

“Fuck,” he sighs, wrapping his hands around Armie’s neck, relishing the feeling of the soft material of his lounge pants pressing against his unclothed dick. 

“How’s your hand?” Armie asks him, voice rumbling into the minimal space between them.

“Fine,” Timmy answers, as Armie pushes a hand into his curls.

“Good,” Armie says in return, rolling his hips slightly. The soft scrape of the fabric of the lounge pants and the warm heat coming from Armie’s dick make Timmy grip tighter onto his neck, pull him down even closer to his own face. They breathe into each other’s space as they continue to slowly rub their hips together.

“Oh, yes,” Timmy breathes, loving the way Armie’s crotch is grinding into his own, providing delicious pressure against his already aching erection. He loves touching Armie, and being touched by him. Loves when their bodies come together.

Armie uses the giant span of his hand, still buried in Timmy’s curls, to stroke over his cheek, giving him a soft kiss. Timmy’s mouth hangs open when they part, panting hot breaths against Armie’s face.

“Good boy,” Armie tells him, punctuating the words with a firmer roll of his hips, continuing with more pressure than before.

The even more delicious pressure makes Timmy grab onto Armie’s face, hands on either side of his jaw, and pull him down for even more kisses. His mouth is soft against Armie’s, making it easy for his tongue to escape and meet up with its partner, then slide against it over and over again.

Armie breaks the kiss to start trailing kisses down his neck and Timmy knows he won’t last very much longer. He has a weak spot for having his neck kissed, and Armie’s neck kisses are particularly deadly. They trail up and down the side of his neck, around to the front of his throat, down to his shoulder and back up to his ear. All the while Armie continues rocking against him.

Timmy can clearly feel the hard line of Armie’s clothed dick, the way it rubs at his own bare cock. The material of his lounge pants is providing the perfect friction and Tim knows he’s already leaking everywhere. He imagines how much his cock must be dampening the front of Armie’s pants, the image making him rock his hips up a little harder.

“Fuck, Armie. I’m close,” Timmy says, forcing the words out amidst the need to moan at the exquisite pressure of Armie’s thrusts.

Armie attacks his mouth, giving him a hard, sloppy kiss, then moves down his body with agility. He pushes up the hem of Timmy’s shirt even further, dives at his crotch and immediately takes him into his mouth.

Timmy moans, loud, at the sensation, knowing it won’t be very much longer until he explodes. His hand wanders down and his fingers dig into the back of Armie’s head, the lack of hair making it difficult to find anything to grab onto, so he just scratches his nails up and down while Armie continues to suck him off.

He feels Armie’s tongue winding its way across the underside of his dick as his mouth continues to move up and down, looks down to see his cheeks hollow further, knows he’s gonna lose it soon.

“Oh fuck, baby. Can I come in your mouth?” He thinks this was Armie’s intention, but wants to make sure. He gets his answer when Armie hums around his dick. Timmy groans, watches as he redoubles his efforts, bobbing his head faster and pressing more firmly with his tongue. Armie’s hand moves to fondle his balls and he feels certain he’s done for.

“Shit, Armie,” he mutters, the last coherent thing he’s capable of saying before he’s coming into the wet heat of Armie’s mouth. Armie pulls back so just the tip is still captured in his lips, brings a hand up from his balls to wrap around his cock instead and jerks him off through his orgasm. He has no idea what sounds he’s making, but he knows he’s probably being loud and incoherent as Armie keeps sucking him expertly, until the last drops of come dribble out of his dick. 

Armie pulls off his cock entirely then, Timmy watching as he visibly swallows, licks his lips. He feels himself twitch feebly at the sight. Then Armie’s kissing over his hip, his belly, moving back up so he’s millimeters away from Timmy’s lips. Lowers his head a little bit more, almost touching down. 

“You taste so good,” he whispers against him. Timmy hums into their kiss that follows, chasing the taste of himself with a swipe of his tongue.

They breathe against each other for a few moments, Timmy still panting hard, until he shifts slightly and unintentionally rubs up against Armie’s crotch, feels the still-hard line of his cock against his own softening one. Feels Armie’s hot rush of breath against his face; Tim burns with the desire to take care of him, too. 

“My turn,” he says, smiling up at him, moving his hand down to squeeze at Armie in the same way he’d squeezed at him before. Armie lets out a soft noise this time, body tense with how he’s holding himself up, holding himself back.

Timmy pushes at him until he’s in a sitting position, gets on all fours so he can bend his head down towards Armie’s lap, hands and knees pressing into the couch cushions beside Armie’s body. He pulls Armie’s lounge pants down just enough to expose his dick, already hard and leaking.

He leans in to lick heartily at the tip, gazing up at Armie’s face before his tongue is fully back inside his mouth.

“Please,” Armie begs on a whisper, and his desperation unlocks something carnal inside Timmy.

He goes down on him enthusiastically after that, sucking at him with abandon, moaning around his dick like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Armie is already so hard in his mouth and Timmy focuses on making it good for him, bobbing his head and making little figure-8s, taking him all the way into his throat and then moving back to focus on just the tip, tonguing at the underside before moving back down. 

“I’m gonna—fuck,” Armie grits out, and Timmy feels proud, feels himself tense with anticipation of receiving his delicious load, hums around him, hollows his cheeks to suck harder.

“Tim,” Armie warns, hand coming to grip at the curls at the back of his head. Timmy loves how it effectively makes Armie pull his hair every time he slides down his dick, closes his eyes against the sensation and focuses on making him come.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Armie is spurting into his mouth, moaning and gripping at his hair even tighter. He keeps working him through it, swallowing every drop of his sticky jizz before lapping at the head to clean him up.

Timmy raises up to his knees so he can meet Armie in a kiss, hums into it. Scoots closer so he can lean against Armie, so he can press his face back into the crook of his neck again. This time he feels calm, and satisfied, if not totally out of breath.

When they regain their breath and finally manage to separate, putting their clothes back in order quickly, Timmy checks his phone again. He sees a few new messages from his friends, his sister too, who are eager to meet up with him and to know more about how it’s going with the new man in his life. He looks over at Armie with a small smile before he responds to them, excited at the prospect of seeing the people he loves.

He puts his phone down and focuses on Armie again. Suddenly he has an idea.

“Would you want to meet them?” he asks.

“Your friends?” Timmy nods. “Of course,” Armie says, smiling at him.

“Maybe I could hang with them for a bit and then you could join us?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Armie’s eyes are sparkling lightly now and he looks happy. Timmy loves seeing him happy. A sudden wave of gratitude and love crashes over him. He gazes at Armie, his heart feeling full.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” he tells him. Looks over at him, can’t help but mirror his smile, lips curling up in tandem with Armie’s lips.

“Of course, baby.” Armie reaches out, clasps Timmy’s hand. The new bandaid feels a little bit less weird as it folds in his palm, and he’s no longer in any pain. Instead, Timmy is practically dizzy with the love he feels for Armie, with feeling cared for by him. 

Armie squeezes his hand, making Timmy smile, then tugs on it slightly. Timmy doesn’t need any more encouragement to move closer, and immediately crawls to sit next to Armie once again.

He’s wrapped up right away, Armie’s strong arm snaking around his shoulders, holding him tight. Timmy twists towards him and wraps his arms around his neck, ending up in an awkward side-hug, but then Armie’s free hand comes to tangle in his curls and there’s no way he’s moving now.

He throws a leg over Armie’s and snuggles into him, feeling safe and warm.

Armie’s hand strokes through his curls, strong arm squeezing him tighter still. Tim gets a kiss to the side of his head, near his temple.

“I’d do anything for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh they're so in looooove.
> 
> I'm cooking up some more ideas for them, and I'm always open to your suggestions, too.
> 
> XOXO


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